


Miles

by LadyWhizbee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWhizbee/pseuds/LadyWhizbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny's point of view during the last weeks of Deathly Hallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miles

**Author's Note:**

> This is another cannon-study of Ginny and her missing moments in those last few weeks before the final battle. 
> 
> I owe a huge thank you to St. Margarets and Sherylyn for their time, patience and inspiration as always.

 

 

_Their words mostly noises  
Ghosts with just voices  
Your words in my memory  
Are like music to me  
_  
                 'Third Bar’ Snow Patrol

 

 

*****

  
_Too many people…_  
  
Ginny slips into the scullery and shuts the door firmly behind her. Welcoming the muffled silence from the voices in the kitchen, she sags against the door and lets the iron knob press into her back.  
  
There’s news.  
  
This time it’s personal, though. Ted Tonks is dead. And Dean—Ginny had just heard—was rumored to have been traveling with him but is now unaccounted for. And then there’s, Luna… _Luna_ …her wand discovered, broken and discarded in the crevices of the train, but her friend no where to be found.  
  
Clenching her eyes shut, Ginny wills the pounding in her head to stop.  
  
The crack in the scullery window lets in the cold March wind. It swirls about the room—refreshing, pure, and good—but it still isn’t enough to stay the sickness slowly creeping up her throat.  
  
 _Dead, gone, missing…  
_  
Tears begin to form somewhere deep behind her eyelids and as she attempts to swallow the rising lump, her throat muscles constrict painfully, tightening around a substance that does not exist but feels just as hard as stone.  
  
 _No, no…come on…hold it together…_  
  
What she needs, what she craves is to be busy, to be active, to _do something_. She needs to be back at school—Death Eaters be damned— taking risks, helping people, undermining Snape, doing something bloody _defiant_.  
  
Her mind races and her fingers fumble for the Galleon-sized coin hanging on a chain around her neck. _Damn_. There are no messages from Neville. Sitting…waiting…doing absolutely nothing…it’s gnawing away at her sanity.  
  
It would be different if she weren’t so far away from Harry…miles, really…although she has no idea where he is, what he’s doing, or even if he’s safe.  
  
Her chest heaves, overcome by racking, deep and jagged breaths that fill her lungs and vacate them just as quickly. Merlin, she’s going to hyperventilate.  
  
Sitting on a small wooden chair, she wipes the back of her hands over her cheeks and swings her head down between her knees. The ends of her hair gently dust the floor, swaying back and forth. The breeze from the window chills her neck, and the scent of the earthy stone floor fills her nostrils.  
  
News. She needs useful news, not Voldemort sightings. It needs to be serious news.  
  
News about Harry.  
  
 _Please…something…anything…_  
  
It’s been too long. Nobody knows anything. And the silence is deafening.

 

*****

 

A startling bang of a door being thrown wakes Ginny from a deep sleep. She sits up straight in her bed, spitting the hair out of her mouth, and wrenching her legs free of her twisted sheets.

“Ginny!”

Mum is panicked, white-faced—rushing into her room, tying her dressing gown and struggling to keep her wand light aloft. The beam of light shakes like mad making crazy patterns on her bedroom wall.

“Ginny—get up, get up now! Death Eaters—we have to, we’ve got to—”

There’s no need for her to finish. Ginny bolts for her, clasping her mother’s hand with one of her own and grabbing her wand from her nightstand with the other. Her DA coin is hanging on her neck, as always.

They twist on the spot.

 

*****

  
“They won’t tell me anything. All they’ll say is that they’re working on Dumbledore’s orders. I don’t know why they insist on going it alone. We could help— _want_ —to help.”  
  
Bill’s voice filters up the stairs to where she stands in the darkness, clutching the railing, daring not to move. Her father leans on the table holding his tea with both hands.  
  
“It’s clear they’re up to something, though—and whatever it is, it’s going to happen soon,” Bill sighs. “If Harry’s made some sort of alliance with Griphook…”  
  
His voice trails off into nothingness, though his words echo about in her skull. Her fingers still clutch the coin, willing it to surge with a sudden flash of heat.  
  
Her father sits back and slowly wipes his glasses before putting them back on. His voice is calm, steady. “Warn him, then. It’s all you can do, if the deal is done.”  
  
Bill nods and stands.  
  
“Well—” Mum sweeps into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “That’s that. Auntie Muriel’s pleased to have the tiara back, please thank Fleur for her.”  
  
Bill snorts. “I heard her say that she thought we’d stolen it!”  
  
“Well, yes—but never you mind—she’s tired and the twins are driving her mad.” She frowns as she sees Bill swing his cloak over his shoulders. “You won’t stay?”  
  
“No, Fleur’ll worry.”  
  
“Take some pie, then, or some bread?” Mum offers. “We have plenty and you have a full house.”  
  
“Yes, but so do you.” Bill kisses her on the forehead. “We’re fine, Mum. Don’t worry.”  
  
Bill turns to the door and Ginny panics.  
  
“Bill!” She stumbles down the last few stairs, catching herself with a loud thump on the landing. “Bill, wait—”  
  
Ginny breathes on the surface, shallow anxious breaths, lurching to grab him by the sleeve. “Bill, tell me. Is everyone okay?”  
  
“Yes.” Bill nods, his hands still fastening the clasps on his cloak. “Ron’s eating like a troll. Hermione and Dean have healed completely. Luna’s keeping us all entertained. Everyone’s fine.”  
  
 _And Harry? What about Harry? Is he eating? Is he sleeping? Has he asked about me?_ Her mind screams though she can not say any of those things.  
  
“Good,” she replies, vaguely aware that her head is nodding and that her throat is scratchy, dry. “Would you tell him—them—would you please send all of them my love?”  
  


  
*****  
  


  
“What’s this?” Fred raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Fold your own socks,” Ginny retorts, throwing the wad of clean socks back at the twins. “I’m not your maid.”  
  
“Feeling a little testy?” asks George.  
  
“A little stir-crazy?” Fred smirks.  
  
“A little _annoyed_ ,” Ginny snaps.  
  
Fred slings an arm around her shoulder. “Now, now, is this anyway to show gratitude for the months of paid employment we’ve provided you?”  
  
“Not as your maid. Plus, you two can do magic outside of school—I can’t.” Her retort sounds weak, but she’s tired. Ducking out from under his arm, she puts her neat piles back into the clothes basket to take upstairs.  
  
“Ah, but folding the wash by hand is real character-building stuff—it makes you appreciate how the Mugg—”  
  
“Oh, stuff it, Fred.”  
  
She turns to leave and then she feels the coin growing scalding hot against her chest. She gasps, dropping the clothes on the floor.  
  
“What is it?” George stands.  
  
Her hand trembles so much that she can barely read the runes.  
  
“Hog—Hogwarts,” Ginny stammers, whispering, barely believing what she’s seeing. “I’m needed—Dumbledore’s Army—all of us, we’re needed at Hogwarts.”  
  
 _A purpose._  
  
Her heart soars. Now she has something to do.

 

 

 


End file.
